bury great and rare occurrences in a beautiful tomb of remembrance, to which each one may approach, and celebrate the memory thereof. This Wolfgang said, when he had written Werther; write, then, the story, for love of him. I will, with pleasure, write as much as lies in the power of my poor pen, for I owe thee many thanks; a woman of my age, and a young and sprightly girl, who would always be with me, and asks for nothing else! - yes, that is indeed worthy of thanks; I have written this to Weimar. When I write to him about thee, he answers me directly. He says, it is a comfort to him that thou perseverest with me. Adieu; don't stay long at the Rheingau; the black rocks, from which the sun rebounds, and the old walls, make thee melancholy. [Translated from the German, by Bettine.] BETTINE TO GOETHE'S MOTHER. DEAR FRAU RATH:-It is quite impossible for me to write of Günderode on the Rhine; it is not that I am so sensitive, but I am on a spot not far enough removed from the occurrence for me perfectly to review it. Yesterday, I went down yonder, where she had lain; the willows are so grown, that the place is quite covered; and when I thought how she had run here, full of despair, and so quickly plunged the violent knife into her breast, and how long this idea had burned in her mind; and that I, so near a friend, now wandered in the same place, along the same shore, in sweet meditation on my happiness, — all, even the slightest circumstance, seeming to me to belong to the riches of my bliss, I do not feel equal, at such a time, to arrange all, and pursue the simple thread of our friendship's life, from which I might yet spin the whole. It distresses me that she has left this beautiful earth. She used me ill! she fled from me in the moment when I would have imparted to her every enjoyment! She was so timid; a young canoness, who feared to say grace aloud; she often told me that she trembled when her turn came to pronounce the benedicite; our communion was sweet, —it was the epoch in which I first became conscious of myself! She first sought me out in Offenbach; she took me by the hand, and begged me to visit her in the town; afterwards, we came every day together; with her, I learned to read my first books with understanding; she wanted to teach me history, but soon saw that I was too busy with the present, to be held long by the past. How delighted I was to visit her! I could not miss her for a single day, but ran to her every afternoon; when I came to the chapter-gate, I peeped through the key-hole of her door, till I was let in. Her little apartment was on the ground floor, looking into the garden; before the window grew a silver poplar, up which I climbed to read; at each chapter, I clambered one bough higher, and thus read down to her; she stood at the window, and listened, speaking to me above; every now and then she would say, Bettine, don't fall!" I now, for the first time, know how happy I then was; for all, even the most trifling thing, is impressed on my mind, as the remembrance of enjoyment. She was as soft and delicate, in all her features, as a blonde. She had brown hair, but blue eyes, that were shaded by long lashes; when she laughed, it was not loud, it was rather a soft, subdued crooing, in which joy and cheerfulness distinctly spoke; she did not walk, she moved, if one can understand what I mean by this; her dress was a robe, which encompassed her with caressing folds; this was owing to the gentleness of her movements. She was tall of stature, -her figure was too slender for the word flowing to express; she was timidfriendly, and much too yielding to make herself prominent in society. She once dined with all the canonesses at the Royal Primate's table; she wore the black chapter dress, with long train, white collar, and cross of the order; some one remarked, that she looked, amidst the others, like a phantom, a spirit, about to melt into air. * * Of that which happened in the real world, we communicated to each other nothing; the kingdom in which we met sunk down like a cloud, parting to receive us to a secret paradise; -there all was new, surprising, but congenial to spirit and heart; and thus the days went by. BETTINE. 33 JOHN DE LA FONTAINE. 1621-1695. 66 This poet is celebrated as a writer of Fables, Tales, Comedies and Letters, all of which possess great originality. He gave himself up to poetical reveries, and was very absent minded. Meeting his son, one day, without knowing him, he observed that he was a youth of parts and spirit; and when informed that it was his own son, he replied, with unconcern, I am really glad of it."" He left his wife, soon after marriage, and became gentleman to Henrietta of England; after her death, he, for twenty years, made one of the family of the learned and witty Madam de la Sablière. [Translated from the French.] THE COCK AND THE FOX. Throughout the animal domains. And please, my brother, don't delay; That I must spread them far to-day. But, first, let's seal the bliss With one fraternal kiss." "Good friend," the cock replied, "upon my word, A better thing I never heard; And doubly I rejoice To hear it from your voice; And, really, there must be something in it, They come so fast, they'll be here in a minute. And we'll rejoice some other day." So off the fellow scampered, quick and light, The cock laughed sweetly in his sleeve; MADAME DE STAËL HOLSTEIN. 1768-1817. This remarkable woman was the daughter of Necker, a native of Geneva, though twice raised to the rank of Prime Minister of France. Her mother, the first love of Gibbon, was distinguished for her writings, as well as for the virtues of her character. Madame De Staël possessed great vigor of mind and keenness of wit; and, as a writer, ranks among those of the highest order in the French language. So well did she read Napoleon's character, and so much was her influence feared by him, that he banished her from France, and confined her to her chateau, on Lake Geneva. She, at length, fled in disguise, and, hunted by French agents, pursued her way to Russia, where she found that freedom which other parts of Europe did not afford. Her Germany was consigned to the flames, by order of the police; but, by the fortunate concealment of one copy, the work was preserved from destruction. Her other principal works are Corinna, or Italy, Ten Years of Exile, and The French Revolution. Her husband was a Swedish baron. [From "Corinna, or Italy; " translated from the French.] CORINNA IN ENGLAND. My step-mother received me kindly; but I readily perceived that my whole manner was surprising to her, and that she proposed to change it, if she could. Not a word was spoken during dinner, although some persons of the neighborhood had been invited. This silence was so tedious to me, that, in the midst of the repast, I endeavored to converse a little with an aged man, who was seated by my side; and I quoted, in conversation, some Italian verses, which were very pure and delicate, but in which the word love occurred. My step-mother, who knew a little of Italian, looked at me, blushed, and gave the signal to the women, earlier than usual, to go and prepare tea, and leave the gentlemen alone at table, during the dessert. * * * My step-mother, at supper, said, in a low voice, to me, that it was not customary for young persons to speak; and, especially, that they should never allow themselves to quote lines in which the word love was used. "Miss Edgermond," added she, "you must strive to forget everything which belongs to Italy; it is a country that it would have been better you never should have known."I passed the night in weeping, my heart oppressed with sadness. In the morning, I went to walk. There was a dreadful fog, and I could not perceive the sun, which, at least, might have recalled to me my native country. I met my father; he came to me, and said, "My dear child, it is not here as in Italy; women have no other avocation among us than domestic duties." * * * Birth, marriage and death, composed the whole history of our company; and these three events differed there less than elsewhere. Imagine what it was, to an Italian like me, to be seated around a tea-table, several hours a day, after dinner, with my step-mother's visitors, consisting of seven women, the gravest of the country. Two of them were unmarried ladies of fifty, timid as at fifteen, but much less lively than at that age. One lady said to another, "My dear, do you think the water is hot enough to turn upon the tea?"-"My dear," replied the other, "İ believe it will be too soon, for these gentlemen are not yet ready "Will they remain long at table, to-day,” said a third; "what do you think of it, my dear?" "I don't know," answered a fourth; "I believe the election to Parliament is to take place next week, and, perhaps, they will remain to talk about it."-"No," rejoined a fifth, "I think they will speak of that fox-chase, which has occupied them the past week, and which is to begin again next Monday; I think, however, that the dinner will soon be over."-"Ah! I hardly hope it," said the sixth, sighing; and silence began again. I had been in the to come." |